


a silent goodbye

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: She is gone.And he never got a chance to say goodbye.In the dark of the night, Daryl allows himself to mourn. Set during 7x09.





	

_Now she's gone._

 

  
Gone.

 

  
She's gone.

 

  
Again.

  
  
He has lost her so many times, and each time she came back to him. And not even she could fix the crack in his heart that the loss of her had caused.

 

  
  
(blood and guts on the concrete floor. a soft scarf between his fingers, still warm from the sun, from _her_ . his eyes dry. limbs stoic. because the others are here and he can't let them see. because the baby needs food, needs to survive.  
  
a fake flower on an empty grave. bittersweet memories buried in the dry earth instead of a body.  
  
a familiar knife, coated in blood. cold in his hand.  
  
_they didn't make it._ )

 

  
  
The others are asleep, or at least he thinks they are. Nobody stirs in the room they have been given, soft mattresses and clean pillows and the scent of peaches and cake in the air.  
  
This place is a damn joke. Soft and pretty and all that shit. Everything that makes you weak in this world.

 

(everything she had been. deep down under a layer of steel.)

  
  
His body hurts. Everything. His legs and arms and his shoulder. The wound still throbbing, sending sparks of pain through his veins with every breath he doesn't want to take. His head pounds, a dull ache beneath his temples. _Thud thud thud._  
  
He can't sleep, knows he won't be able to. Ain't like he isn't tired. Fucking exhausted. Hasn't gotten more than an hour of sleep at a time in weeks.  
  
The fucking song still plays in his head, over and over and over. Mingles with Morgan's words until he wants to press his palm to his ears and scream to make it all go away.  
  
Now she's gone.

 

 

(turning his back on the people he loves. on his family. flames of guilt licking at him mercilessly from the inside. burning, burning, burning.

 

his brother's voice in his head. the old man's voice. t _rash. weak. worthless. mine._

 

the air so thick he can't breathe. blood on his hands. the crossbow aimed at his own brother. the weight of a wrong decision.

 

_she'll understand_.)

 

 

He feels naked here in these clothes that aren't his. Without his crossbow, or a gun or a knife to keep him safe. In this bed he never slept in before. Just as naked as he felt in that cell, curled up on the cold ground. Shivering and trembling and unable to hide.

 

The soft mattress turns into concrete beneath him and he digs his nails in, feels them scratch along the rough ground until they tear, until blood is drawn. Thick, dark, red.

 

The breathing of the others turns into white noise, so loud it echoes in his ears, feels like too much pressure – suffocating him.

 

The taste of their dinner – their _supper_ , meat and roasted vegetables and goddamned cobbler – turns sour in his mouth, his tongue raw and abused and his eyes watering at the taste.

 

He's no longer with them. He's back there, all alone. Where it's too loud to remember the sound of her voice. Too dark to remember the color of her eyes. Too cold to remember the warmth of her touch.

 

She's gone.

 

 

(anger burning in his veins like wildfire. hands curling into fists until the white of his knuckles pushes through. calloused skin ready to tear.

 

the weight of someone else's crime on his shoulders. a hundred questions in his mind. why? how? why not me? why her?

 

metal cold against his skin. determination a force that drives him to forgiveness. he'll find her.

 

can go out there, follow her tracks. he _knows_ her. better than himself. he'll find her.

 

but then it all burns. explodes. soaks in blood. the stench of smoke thick in the air. wondering where she is. grateful that she didn't have to witness the fall.

 

_couldn't have waited 'til we got back?_ )

 

 

It hurts.

 

The concrete against his bare feet, the soles raw and bleeding.

 

The sun in his eyes as he stumbles away from another walker. Over and over and over until the day finally turns to night.

 

The memory of _that_ night. Of Glenn's promise to Maggie.

 

It shouldn't have been him.

 

He turns on the hard ground – on the soft mattress – and stares up at the dark ceiling of the cell – out of the window, the moon and the stars casting silver lights.

 

Here and there, his mind torn. That place followed him here. _Here._ He's here, he made it out.

 

He's still himself. Still Daryl.

 

But a part of him... A part of him is still locked up in that cell. And another, she took with her.

 

Wherever she went.

 

She's gone.

 

 

(the sound of tires screeching. a body hitting the ground. weak arms holding him back with all their might, his body tearing apart at the seams to move, to get to her.

 

the sight of her – limp and lifeless – through the glass. out of his reach.

 

a silent promise he makes.

 

to find her.

 

_what's it gonna take?_ )

 

 

There's nowhere for him to go.

 

Whatever home he once believed he had is no more than a trap now (and how much of a home can it be without her there?)

 

He can't stay at the Hilltop. Not without risking all their lives. Maggie's life.

 

He won't.

 

It's the least he can do. After Glenn. After she forgave him. Took him in her arms and said she was glad he is okay.

 

But he isn't. Is just lost now. Drifting.

 

He should be good at it. It's all he's ever done.

 

But he'd wanted to try. Try for _her_. Try for himself because she made him see who he could be. That there's more to him than what he always believed, than other people reduced him to all his life. She saw right through him from the start with her powder blue eyes as clear as the spring sky. Like the brightest star at night she glimmered, guiding his way.

 

Now, he's cloaked in darkness.

 

And he knows one thing. That there's no use in tracking in the dark.

 

He won't find her there.

 

She's gone.

 

 

Tears prickle in his eyes. Tears he wants to shed because she deserves them. Silently, they trail down his cheeks, soak into the pillow under his head. Silent sobs wreck his body and he turns onto his side, curls into himself the way he did back there.

 

She's gone. This time, it's true.

 

He will never see her again.

 

Will never get a change to make right of all the wrong he's done.

 

Everything he _never_ did.

 

 

(when he found her in the tombs, he carried her away. gave her water. smiled.

 

he should have taken her hand. linked it with his. feel her pulse thrumming under his thumb over and over and over into the darkest hours of the night. should have pressed his lips there, to the blue-veined ivory of her skin.)

 

 

Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, he closes his eyes. Forces them shut. He can feel his heart pounding, his skin tightening, the air being sucked from his lungs.

 

 

(when he returned, she welcomed him back. smiled.

 

he should have apologized. should have fallen to his knees in front of her and begged her to forgive him. should have curled his arms around her stomach, press his cheek to the softness. make her a promise that he'll never leave them again. _her._ that's he'll never leave her again.)

 

 

He can't breathe. His body convulses, twists and turns and the pain only grows more unbearable.

 

But nobody checks on him.

 

Nobody can see him in the darkness of his own mind.

 

 

(when she found him, he knocked the breath out of their lungs. lifted her off the ground. found peace in her arms. found life in the warmth of her against him.

 

he should never have let her go. should have swallowed her surprised gasp with his own lips. press them to hers to taste her, all sweet. he should have started over then, right then. with her in his arms.)

 

 

All night he sees her face. Not the one he wants to remember. The hesitant smile. The cautious happiness.

 

He sees the mask of her that she has carried for so long, ever since he really lost her. Not now. Not a few weeks ago.

 

No.

 

She's been gone for so long.

 

 

(when he found her again, he took her wheelchair. ended a life. let her hand stop him from taking more.

 

he should have cared for her then. should have kept her fed and out of pain. laid with her at night and held her hand by day. should have proven that starting over was something they both could achieve.)

 

 

When the sun replaces the moon in the sky and the others stir awake, he keeps his head turned away. Sucks in shaky breaths until Rick tells him they need to go.

 

He waits. Begs that that when he opens his eyes this nightmare will end.

 

But when he does...

 

She is just as gone.

 

 

(and suddenly all he really regrets is never once saying _goodbye_.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> The reason I wrote this is because of how unhappy I was with large parts of this episode. Daryl's reaction to learning that Carol is gone was heartbreaking and perfectly done, but it clearly wasn't the first time he heard about her choice to leave and I felt pretty cheated. So, I wanted to explore his feelings about losing her a bit more, after that one look was so filled with pain.
> 
> And I also feel like - once again - they glossed over the effects of violence and torture. I wanted to see Daryl dealing with what happened to him, or at least for them to show that it actually affected him somehow. 
> 
> Basically, I wrote what I wanted to see, and I hope you guys liked it. As messy as it is, but that reflects my mind, really.


End file.
